Missing You Always
by yeahsurekthxbai
Summary: Jerelee may have thought Ori lost to her completely, but after receiving the news of Ori's death, and his letter, the only thing she has left to do is to immerse herself in her memories of and feelings for him. Companionfic to 'Will You Marry Me' May expand this into a multi-chapter revolving around Jerelee and Ori, or for the different dwarves, am up for suggestions!
1. Chapter 1

Some days, Jerelee sits at her kitchen table, and closes her eyes, and remembers.

She is old now, she knows – far older than she thought she could ever live to be, though she has lost count of her age long ago. She can feel age settling upon her, feel it in her bones.

But sometimes, she feels seventeen again, young and happy and carefree, falling in love for the first time and staying in love. Falling into a fairytale.

Not a prince. Not a handsome, conventional, tall prince with a shining sword and shield; no, he was short, and sweet, and goofy and charming and shy and awkward and good and kind.

Yes, she thinks, it was a fairytale come true.

She had never been a big believer in fairytales, not until that point.

She remembers the car accident, remembers waking up in Beorn's garden and how he and Radagast cared for her, looked after her. How Beorn became like a father to her, how he made it so much easier for her to accept living in Middle Earth.

And then how Ella had come, Ella and the company of Thorin Oakenshield.

She smiles to herself as she thinks of Ella, funny, kind, sarcastic Ella, the sister she has never had. But there is pain in her smile, pain and sadness and longing, and she has to clench her hands, she has to sit upright and blink back tears and swallow. Ella, who had found love in this world as well, in the arms of a blond dwarf who would have done anything for her.

Jerelee squeezes her eyes shut, tightly, before opening them again, glistening.

So much pain and sadness in this world, she thinks, but she has never regretted her new life here.

No, there has only been one thing she has truly regretted, and that is her parents, who had had to deal with the loss of their only child.

But she draws comfort from the fact that they have each other.

Her mind goes back to Ella and the company, and she remembers someone else.

She remembers a shy, sweet, awkward dwarf with an uncertain smile.

_Ori_.

Ori, her Ori.

She spent not even three full days with him when he first came.

But those days had been more than enough.

Beorn, she remembers with a wry smile, had not approved. He did not care for dwarfs, he thought them greedy, and selfish. He was right, to a point – Ori had never been like that, not to her. Ori, she thinks, could never have been like that.

Ori was not perfect, of course. Of course he had his faults. Everyone has their faults; it is something she knows, that she has always known and accepted. For example, one of Ori's biggest faults, she thinks, is his self-esteem; always, always he is so insecure about himself, so uncertain. And of course there is the fact that sometimes he is so wrapped up in his own work that it is as if she does not exist –

No, she remembers suddenly. Not _is._ _Was_.

And then she has to wrap her arms around herself, tightly, and squeeze her eyes shut.

She wonders if she will ever get over this.

If she will ever get over him.

For so long, she thinks, for so long, she thought him gone.

She managed to pick up the threads of her life, put her life back together.

And then the news from the mines of Moria came.

She takes a deep, shaky breath.

Some days, Nori will come and visit her; some days, he will leave his home in Erebor, make his way through Dale to her small neat house, and they will spend hours talking. Sometimes they will talk about Ori; but most of the time, they talk about other things, anything, from flowers and gemstones to Dwalin and Bard to the market to anything they can think of, really. It is easier, much easier, to be reminded of Ori but not to speak of him at the same time, and Jerelee is grateful that Nori makes the effort to come and visit since it is so difficult for her to do it herself.

But it is painful, so painful, to even think of Ori.

It is so painful to think of him smiling at her, looking at her shyly, holding out a bouquet of flowers, showing her a glittering gemstone, making her laugh, and talking, just talking, hours and hours and hours of talking.

She thinks of an argument they had one day, just a few years after they met, and how she had run out of the place crying, running and running and running and running.

She thinks of how, after hours, Ori had found her curled up in a corner, hugging her knees, not saying a word.

She thinks of how she looked up to see him holding a bouquet of flowers, flowers of all different colours and types that he had painstakingly picked, his face awkward, shy, behind it.

Small things, she thinks; how one day she got up early to make breakfast for him, how his whole face had lit up at the sight, and how the next day he'd prepared a wonderful dinner.

How he had tried teaching her how to fight, and had failed, and how they had both spent majority of the time laughing on the ground.

How she tried to explain to him what a television was, and how she had failed so very badly, and how she had ended up getting so flustered that Ori could only laugh at her.

She remembers, when he left for Moria, when she waited for him, waited and waited and waited, until she finally left Erebor and made a life for herself in Dale.

And she remembers, not so very long ago, when two hobbits had come to her and given her the news of Ori's death.

_Ori_.

She closes her eyes.

_I miss you, Ori. _

_Sometimes, it feels like just yesterday that I met you for the first time, that you walked across my heart and left your footprints there, footprints that walked through wet cement and still remained when dried, footprints that couldn't go away. _

_I never believed in all that 'love at first sight' nonsense, you know? It was always Ella who believed in all that – in fairytales and true love and happy endings. I thought they were ridiculous. It's impossible to fall in love with someone at first sight, I can remember telling her, over and over again; how do you love someone you don't know?_

_But I know, now I know, after meeting you all those years ago, that there are some people you just belong with, and that nothing can change that._

_I never knew how to handle what we had, I never knew how to deal with it, with all of it. But I tried my best anyway, and I know you did too, and we've had our arguments and our fights and all that, but what we had, no matter how messed up it was, no matter how messed up we were, I will never, ever, ever regret it._

_I wish we'd had more time together._

_I miss you, Ori._

_I love you._

_Missing you always,_

_Jerelee. _


	2. Chapter 2

**A short Dwalin/OC bc I've always wanted to do one. Not much, but hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

She missed him.

She missed how they would argue, how he would respond to her insults with his gruff replies, how he would glare at her and how his hand would itch towards his axe.

But of course, he would never hurt her.

She missed how they would insult each other on a daily basis, how she would rap his head and how he would threaten to cut off 'her ridiculous mane of uncontrollable hair'.

But of course, he had never minded the comments she had made on his hair.

She missed how he would drag her off and teach her how to fight properly, barking instructions at her on how to use a dagger or a sword or a bow and arrows properly, and how frustrated both of them would get when she proved absolutely useless at some weapon or other.

But of course, he never had been really serious about those training sessions, because he would always be there for her.

She missed how surprisingly sweet he could be, how he once came to her house with a large bouquet of flowers he had picked himself and had thrust it into her arms, not knowing what to say or what to do, and how she had stared at him for a long moment before flinging her arms around him, nearly stabbing herself on one of the many concealed weapons on his person.

She missed their conversations, walking alone in the forest or by the fireside in one of the empty rooms in the inn or in his funny toymaker friend's shop or wherever they could go.

She missed their comfortable silences together, because neither of them were particularly good with words, and because they both drew more comfort from each other when she was leaning against him with her head on his shoulder.

She missed his gruff, small smile, his roar of laughter, how he would prod her whenever she was upset until she began to giggle.

She missed him so much.

Nobody had ever really understood what she saw in him. No one could understand what she saw in him, could understand what she saw past his glares, his weapons, his gruffness.

But she knew, she had always known, that there was so much more to Dwalin than met the eye.

* * *

"You miss her."

Dwalin looked up, sharply, as Balin settled down beside him, leaning his back against the large, smooth boulder.

Then he turned back to face the fire, where the rest of the company were setting up their bedrolls.

"Of course I miss her."

She flashed into his mind again, as she had so often done these past few weeks.

Marina, bright, smiling, stubborn Marina, her dark hair exploding around her head in a mess of curls, her grey eyes looking right at him.

Leaning against him, speaking to him without looking at him, the day before he had left.

"_Don't get yourself killed."_

"_Don't worry. I plan on coming back alive."_

"_Well, seeing how reckless you and Thorin both are – "_

"_Balin will be there, you know."_

"_Well, there'll be one sane person, at least."_

"_So will Fili and Kili."_

"_Oh, dear. Well, don't kill yourself trying to make sure they don't do anything stupid."_

"_I'll see what I can do."_

"_Don't get too excited about the treasure and forget that there's a dragon there as well."_

"_I'm much too professional to leave a live dragon out of my calculations."_

"_And don't take too long in coming back, either."_

"_I'll do my best."_

"_You'd better."_

Next to him, Balin let out a sigh as they watched the Dwarfs prepare dinner, watched them talk and laugh.

"I remember when I first introduced you to her," Balin said, softly, smiling to himself. "Do you?"

"How can I forget?" said Dwalin, gruffly. "She was the only one willing to listen to you ranting on endlessly about our history. I thought she was annoying."

Balin chuckled. "I remember how she flared up because of some comment you made to her, and how I made you go and apologise to her."

"It took me weeks to be able to even stay in the same room with her for more than half an hour," Dwalin said, a small grin spreading over his face.

"She couldn't stand you, either," Balin recalled. "She would complain to me for hours on end about how you were always skulking around the room."

"I did not skulk around the room."

"You started to after you began to fall for her, didn't you?"

Dwalin opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again.

"She told me, you know, when she first realised that she cared for you," said Balin, softly. "She said it wasn't like anything she expected. It was like falling slowly, and then suddenly all at once, from somewhere very high up and with no chance of slowing down."

"She said that?"

"She did."

A long silence grew between them, as they watched the rest of the company sit around the fire, roar with laughter, teasing their burglar with Gandalf chuckling beside them.

"It wasn't what I expected, either," Dwalin said, finally. "I never thought I'd feel that way about someone."

"She's counting on you to come back alive."

"I know. She asked you to take care of me, didn't she?"

"Of course she did. She also told me to tell you that she's missing you always."

"Do you think she knows that I am missing her and that I always will be until I see her again?"

It was times like this that Dwalin let down his guard, let down his outer gruff layer, and let his emotions shine through.

Only ever with his brother, and with his Marina, stubborn and strong and so absolutely useless with weapons but never willing to give up.

Not beautiful, not even pretty, but with something in her that he could not pull away from.

Something that kept her in his heart, and him in hers.

It was, Balin thought, one of those love stories that were never told. The kind of love story that never went through much trials or tribulations apart from long separations, the kind of love story that persevered and stayed strong even after so many long absences from each other, the kind of love story that never seemed like it would have an ending.

"The lass knows, brother," Balin said. "She knows."


	3. Chapter 3

**A Thorin/OC fic, because I need to write and no inspiration for AUC/TSTMTS/EHC/LTLA (okay basically all my other fics haha)**

**note: Arvenna is briefly mentioned in my other fic AUC (ch19) if anyone is interested haha. I might expand on this, not very sure yet.**

**Hope you guys enjoy this!**

* * *

"Do you believe in happy endings?"

Thorin glanced over at Arvenna, her eyes fixed on some metal object in her hands, not even looking up as she asked the question.

"No," he said, his eyes drawn to her hands, twisting this way and that as she played with the metal object. "They are fairytales. An escape for young children before they are made to accept the reality of this world. They do not exist."

"Well, why _don't _you believe in happy endings?"

Thorin wanted to growl in exasperation, but somehow he couldn't. If it had been any other person, he knew, he would have gotten up and walked off without an answer – but this was Arvenna. When she asked something, she really did mean it, and she really wanted to know. She wasn't a complete idiot. She had some other meaning behind her question.

And he couldn't walk away from Arvenna.

"Erebor," he said, simply, and the Lonely Mountain flashed in his mind, the dragon soaring in the air; the battle for Moria, the death of his grandfather, the countless dead. "You should know. You were there as well."

Arwenna finally raised her eyes, green and shining, her red-gold hair tumbling over her shoulders. "Yes, I was," she said, quietly, and Thorin knew that she, too, was hearing the screams, the dragon Smaug's roar, seeing the rush of people, the scrambling to get to safety.

Arvenna. Ferocious, brave, lovely Arvenna, who had always stood by him, who had always believed in him. If it had not been for her, he did not know what he would have done, after the attack on the Lonely Mountain. It was she who had given him hope, who had kept him searching for a way for them to live, who had helped him build a new life for the dwarfs.

"Then you should know why I don't believe in such things."

"But we haven't reached the ending yet."

Thorin placed down the knife he was sharpening. "What do you mean?"

Arvenna shrugged her shoulders, fiddled some more with the metal object in her hands – a key, he noticed, as he moved over to where she sat, dropping down onto the ground beside her.

He waited, patiently, as Arvenna twirled the key around her fingers. She was thinking, he knew, thinking of how to answer his question. Because that was how Arvenna was – she was not one to say much, but somehow she always managed to get right through to him, and she was one of the few people who could always make him smile.

"It's not yet the ending," she said, finally. "We've had to leave Erebor, yes. But I think that we're still halfway through the story. Or maybe not yet even halfway through."

"You think that there is still time for a happy ending?"

Arvenna nodded her head vigorously. "Exactly that."

"Erebor is gone," he said. "We have no way to reclaim it. We survive on barely enough. We have no real home. How can happy endings exist?"

She twisted the key in her fingers, rested her head on his shoulder, her hair cascading down like a waterfall. He wanted, wanted so much to run his hands through her hair; but he kept his hands fixed by his sides.

"I think you've got to believe," she said, quietly, softly, so that Thorin had to strain his ears slightly to hear her. "And you've got to do something about it. Happy endings exist if you do something about them. They're not going to happen if you just sit around dreaming."

"You think I should seek my own happy ending?"

Arvenna said nothing, only adjusted her head more comfortably on his shoulder.

Arvenna.

How could he tell her his dreaming of a happy ending was one that included her?

She thought that for him, his happy ending was one that revolved around Erebor. Around the kingdom that was rightfully his.

In a sense, she was right.

But his vision of a happy ending also included the smiling, serious female leaning on his shoulder.

No.

No, he had to stop doing this. For so long he had cared for her – cared for her as he had cared for no one else, with only his sister Dis and Fili and Kili a close second. He had watched out for her, always, looked after her, made sure she was happy. Because _she_ made _him _happy. She made him feel whole. She gave him hope.

But there was no hope for him. Not when it came to her.

How could there be, when she was so obviously fond of – of Bofur?

Who wouldn't be fond of the toymaker, after all? He made her laugh, made her laugh so easily, in a way that Thorin could not. She could be found spending days with him, talking with him, laughing with him, and Thorin knew that she had a whole collection of elaborate toys that Bofur had made for her.

She had told him once before that if she ever did settle with anyone, it would be with someone who made her happy.

Bofur could do that, far better than Thorin could.

"Sometimes," he said, slowly, "there are things you cannot control. Emotions. Feelings."

Arvenna lifted her head, turned to face him.

"Isn't it about what you make the best out of it?" she asked. "You don't have to control them. That's ridiculous. You just have to make the most out of it. Build on whatever strengths you can gain from them or whatever lessons you learnt. Don't dwell on the negative aspects."

Thorin laughed, a small laugh. "You make it sound so easy."

"It's only as difficult as you make it out to be," she told him, a smile spreading over her face now.

"What would your happy ending be?"

Arvenna tilted her head as she considered the question.

"To be completely honest," she said, finally, "I would like to go back to Erebor. To roam the halls once more."

"So would I." Thorin shut his eyes, briefly, before snapping them open. "Yet I do not see how it could be."

"Reclaim it," Arvenna said, simply, her green eyes shifting to look into his. "But Erebor isn't the only thing in my happy ending."

"What else?"

She leaned her head back as she looked up at the sky above, considering.

"People," she said. "Dis. Fili. Kili. Balin. Maybe even Dwalin."

"Does Bofur not come in?"

He could not help it – the question spilled out from him, the slightest trace of bitterness in it.

"You didn't let me finish my list," she said. "I suppose Bofur could be on the list. But I'm afraid he isn't the most important person on my list, or anywhere close."

"Who is, then?"

She turned her head to face him, the smile even wider now, and Thorin could not help but feel his heart pound even faster.

Cursed thing. What a fool he was – to ask such a question – to have her look at him with those wide green eyes of hers – he was not even included in those she envisioned her happy ending with – what was he thinking –

He felt a hand wrap around his own.

"You, of course."

She squeezes his hand, gently, before letting go.

Maybe there was still hope.

Maybe a happy ending wasn't entirely impossible.


End file.
